


don't let them in, don't let them see

by whataboutmycape



Series: Strike for love and strike for fear, there's beauty and there's danger here [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, don't look at me, i would say i'm sorry for this but that would be a lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutmycape/pseuds/whataboutmycape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a testimony to Sid’s life that that’s how Mario finds him- sitting on the floor with his shirt up around his armpits, leaning forward so that Austin and Alexa can count the snowflakes on his back. Sid flushes red, mortified, but all Mario does is grin at him. It doesn’t take long for that moment to become the kids favorite dinner table conversation, much to Sid’s embarrassment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't let them in, don't let them see

**Author's Note:**

> first off i wanna say that the title is shamelessly taken from the disney movie frozen and everything goes downhill from here 
> 
> okay, so i'm going to make myself feel better by saying listedheart is at fault for this but that would be a lie and i would feel bad, because it wasn't entirely her fault, although when i started this as an anon fic in her inbox she didn't tell me stop when i should have. 
> 
> i have a whole like, universe for this planned out in my head and it's so vast and it includes like, all the other teams and everything so i'm probably going to add on to this, but i make no promises. this is what i have for now, though, and i'm putting it up so that i can get it out of my google docs and i can hopefully stop devoting all of my time to writing little snippets for this instead of doing homework (like that will ever happen) 
> 
> anyway... enjoy? 
> 
> (a note about the languages used- Cookie and Geno are talking to each other in Latin, Colby talks to Sid in Greek, and Geno and Gonch are talking to each other in Russian  
> translations are at the end, sorry if there are inaccuracies, google translate is not very reliable)

Geno has wings on his back. They’re not- _actual wings_ , they’re tattoos. They start right in the middle of his back, curling around his shoulder blades, the feathers unfurling over his shoulders and down each of his arms. Every time Sid sees them he admires them quietly, still trying to figure out what they mean.

He’s never seen a mark quite like them before.

“You always staring, think I going away?” Sid looks up sharply, surprised. He had almost forgotten where he was, who he was around. He shakes his head at himself; this isn’t the place for that. This isn’t the place to get lost.

“How do I know you won’t take those wings and fly away on me, huh?” Geno’s answering smile is blinding, full of a shine of happiness and a silent promise that he would never leave. Sid can read Geno like an open book. Some days, that scares him.

*

From the time Sid’s mark was dark enough to make out, it was obvious what his pull was. It came as no surprise to anyone who ever saw him on skates, to anyone who ever saw him hold a hockey stick in his hands. Sometimes you just know.

“You were always special, Sid. We always knew- we always knew that you were going to be something great.”

Sid never understood what they meant before when they said that, what they could even be talking about. All these years he’s collected, he’s been trying to figure it out. Sid doesn’t think he ever will.

“That mark… Sid, I haven’t seen that mark on someone in decades.”

Sid’s heart always clenches weirdly at that, misses a beat when he hears someone talk about the rarity of his mark. “Maybe that’s a good thing,”

Sid has a cluster of snowflakes spattered along his right hip. They crawl up his side, close together in a cluster of frosted white and stunning uniqueness, before they sprawl across his back, becoming farther apart the closer they get to the left side of his body.

He thinks about the weight that comes with carrying each flake, the story behind his tattoo. No one really understands; you can’t, unless you have them on your body, unless you live with the story every day of your life.

Sid digs a thumb in over the curve of his hip, over his snowflakes. He takes a deep breath.

*

Flower shows off his mark like a battle wound, flaunts it around to everybody like it’s something to be proud of. And, well, it is, but- Sid’s always learned that you don’t make a big deal out of your mark. It’s a personal thing. You don’t ask after other peoples, and you don’t just share yours around.

“Aw, come on, Sid! You’re just jealous you don’t have such a sweet tat on your body!” Flower grins and tries to throw an arm around his shoulder. Sid shoves him away.

“I’m not jealous, you fuck. Just trying to keep your ego in check.”

Flower sticks his tongue out like the five year old he is. Sid doesn’t bother him about it again, and Flower still talks about the fire that licks at his skin, the flames that paint patterns across the back of his shoulders and weave their way down his arm and across the back of his left hand. Sid wonders what Flower would say if he knew about Sid’s snowflakes.

*

Ever since Sid showed his mark to Geno all the other man has done is trace it. First with his eyes, when Geno’s English still consisted of only a few handfuls and between them the only thing they spoke was hockey, but they were still close. Then, he would trace it with his fingers, the palms of his hands sliding up and across Sid’s skin, tracing each and every snowflake, mapping them out like they were going to disappear and he wanted to remember them. On nights between games now, when they have time to waste, Geno lays Sid down on his stomach and traces the mark with his tongue, starts at the tops of his shoulders and works his way down to the cluster of little flakes on Sid’s hip, doesn’t stop until Sid is begging.

There are still days, though, when Geno just looks. Runs his eyes across Sid’s body, just watches the way the mark twists and moves with his skin. And Sid may be made of ice, but on these days, Geno’s attention makes him flush warm.

*

Sid knew Taylor’s mark before anyone else. He can’t explain the how or why of it, doesn’t know the words to make others understand, but he just knows from the first time he lays eyes on his sister. He’s the only person who knows what Taylor is for seven years.

He wishes he could say the secret was hard to keep, but it really wasn’t. Sid never told anyone because he knew they wouldn’t believe him. He didn’t even believe himself.

*

“I heard one of the kids in the draft this year is a merman,” Jack climbs onto the hotel bed next to Sid, sitting up against the headboard and looking across at him.

“Those still exist?” Sid wrinkles his nose, pushing up to lean on his elbows so he can turn to look at Jack. He’s sprawled out on his stomach at the foot of the bed and his shirt is riding up enough for his mark to show. Jack laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Sid?” Jack says, raising an eyebrow and gesturing towards the strip of skin and snowflakes Sid’s shirt is revealing. “Not like you’re one to talk.”

Sid sighs and drops his head back onto the comforter. “At least I don’t have an eagle on my ass,”

Jack squawks and throws a pillow at him and Sid almost rolls off the bed because he’s laughing so hard.

*

 

“Sid! Sid, let’s play! I wanna play, Sid! C’ _mon_!” Taylor’s still young enough for her voice to sound just a little squeaky no matter how she’s feeling. It’s like that now, high and annoying with excitement. Sid doesn’t mind, though, because it’s just so unmistakably his sisters voice and he can’t hate anything that has to do with her.

“Taylor, it’s the middle of August,” Sid sighs and looks over to where his sister is standing in the doorway, wobbling on her feet in goalie pads and a helmet that are way too big for her. She rolls her eyes at him.

“I _know_ , but that doesn’t matter! You have snowflakes, Sid! C’mon, let’s play!” She says, bouncing up and down impatiently. Sid knows that his parents won’t like them doing this again, but he has a hard time saying no to Taylor. He doesn’t think it’s possible, and wonders if thats an aspect tied into her mark. She’s going to hell when she gets older, if it is.

“Okay, T. But only for a little while, alright?” Sid tries to look stern but misses it by half a mile when Taylor squeals and starts trying to do a dance while still weighed down by all her borrowed equipment. Sid’s face melts to the point of stupidity.

Last summer, Sid and Taylor found a lake in the woods behind their house that no one else seemed to know about. Everyday after that they would run down there first thing in the morning, clomping through the woods with all their gear, and Sid would only have to move his hands a little bit to make the lake into what he wanted it to be.

They would skate for hours. Sid used to make a flimsy cage out of sticks and let Taylor stand in it and they’d go one on one, or sometimes they’d just mess around, playing keep away or try and show each other up with their stickhandling. Sid wouldn’t trade those memories with Taylor for anything.

Their parents weren’t happy at all when they found out. Sid got a lecture on being more careful with his powers, that he shouldn’t be flaunting them, he shouldn’t be using them so irresponsibly. Taylor’s let off easy, just a stern warning to be careful, and Sid’s not even mad. He’s grateful. He doesn’t want his sister in trouble for him being stupid.

It’s only been a year, but now, Taylor looks like she actually fits in her homemade cage, filling the space and giving up less open spots for Sid. His heart clenches painfully as he stares at her and drops the puck onto the frozen lake.

*

“He’s _dangerous_ ,” Sid flinches and presses himself flatter against the hallway wall. He’s just outside of the light shining onto the floor from the kitchen doorway.

“He is our son!” His mother is obviously upset, and Sid holds his breath. This is an argument he’s heard many times. He knows what coming next.

“Trina, there is a _reason_ that mark stopped showing up on people. He needs- he needs _help_ and we can’t give it to him.” A searing pain flies up Sid’s side at the words, and he bites his lip against a yell. His mark is burning, settling against his skin with a bone deep throb of pain. The argument is old, but this part is new.

Sid hears something in the kitchen break and then there are angry footsteps coming towards the door. There’s no time for him to try and run back to his room now, so he just bites his lip harder and presses himself even more into the wall, trying to blend himself into the maroon colored paint.

His father stalks out of the doorway and down the hall, not stopping until he gets to the front door and out. Sid stumbles his way back to his room and pretends he doesn’t hear his mother crying. His mark stings and he doesn’t sleep at all that night.

*

Taylor was struck by lightning when she was seven years old. The scar it left is her mark. It starts at the top of her left shoulder and spreads across the base of her neck and down her chest. Whenever she gets nervous, she traces the branching lines with her fingers, running them over the raised scar tissue.  

Sid thinks about what it means. He’s seen the mark on someone once or twice before, knows the important parts about the story behind it, but there isn’t a lot he can find. Taylor tells him to stop worrying. Sid thinks about it even more.

He knew from the time he was ten that his sister’s a Raiju, but he never understood what that meant. Sid wishes he had said something earlier, but he knows no one would’ve have believed him.

*

“The Pittsburgh Penguins select, from Rimouski the Quebec Major Junior League, Sidney Crosby.” There’s a deafening silence when the sentence stops. Sid doesn’t know if everyone’s hearing it or if it’s just him, if the room is suddenly entirely void of noise or if just his brain is short circuiting.

“ _Sid_ ,” He turns at that, eyes wide and blinking and, _oh_. His mom is standing there, laughing at him with tears in her eyes. She’s looking between him and the stage, people are starting to stare. _Oh. I’m supposed to get up._

Sid hugs his parents and walks up the steps on autopilot, going through the motions but not registering what they mean, not comprehending the fact that he just got _drafted by the Pittsburgh Penguins_ he was going to be _playing in the NHL._

When he steps up to the podium and pulls the jersey over his head, Sid feels fire licking up his side and across his back. Instead of pain, though, all Sid feels is a bone deep surety that this is _right_. This is where he’s supposed to be.

It’s the middle of the summer but on that day in Ottawa, Ontario, it snows for hours.

*

Jack’s mark is an eagle. It sits on his lower back with its wings stretched out and Jack tells him that eagles are the symbol of the sky, of hunting and war. Eagles are strong. Of course, he says all of this before actually _showing_ Sid his mark, and the second he does, Sid understands the necessity of the speech.

“Oh my god, you have a _tramp stamp!_ ” Sid can hear Jack angrily grumbling at him, but he’s already gotten started on a honking laugh and there is no way he could stop himself now, even if he wanted to. The mark is right above the swell of his ass, and Jack had to pull his jeans incredibly low on his hips for the whole thing to show. Sid doesn’t think he can ever stop laughing.

“Why am I friends with you again?” Jack says, holding his head in his hands. Sid scrubs a hand across his face, and tries to control himself. It takes a little while, but eventually his laughter is reduced to hiccuping chuckles, and he sits down next to Jack.

“Come on, you had to expect that,” he looks over at Jack, who picks his head up and glares at him. Sid tries to keep a straight face, but Jack still has his shirt off and when he catches sight of the mark again he loses it. “Jack, Mr. _Captain America_ , has a tramp stamp of an eagle,”

Jack throws a text book at him.

*

Sidney meets Mario Lemieux the day of the draft. He meets the Lemieux children not long after. It only takes two hours for them to figure out where his mark is, and that’s only because they had to break for food and then a nap. Really, it was only ten minutes of them tugging at his clothes and making puppy dog eyes before Sid gave in and showed his snowflakes to them.

It’s a testimony to Sid’s life that that’s how Mario finds him- sitting on the floor with his shirt up around his armpits, leaning forward so that Austin and Alexa can count the snowflakes on his back. Sid flushes red, mortified, but all Mario does is grin at him.

It doesn’t take long for that moment to become the kids favorite dinner table conversation, much to Sid’s embarrassment. They tell it to Geno when he comes over for dinner his first night in Pittsburgh, and he laughs about it for days, looking between Sid and the beaming Lemieux children, doubled over because he’s laughing so hard. Sid sits and tries to glare, but he can’t help laughing, too.

*

When Sid goes down during the Winter Classic he knows from the second he hits the ice that it's bad. His mark flares, but this time instead of stinging warmth all he feels is a biting cold of something like frostbite spreading through his body. Under all of his equipment he's shivering violently, teeth chattering so much that he's scared to speak, scared he'll accidentally bite his tongue off. Sid doesn’t know what’s happening. He’s never felt such a bone deep cold in his life, he feels like he’ll never be warm again. He feels like he’s going to disappear into the sheet of ice spread over the rink, like he’ll shiver himself right into the surface and get stuck.

Someone’s kneeling next to him. They have a hand on his shoulder and they’re calling his name but Sid can’t answer, is afraid to answer. It’s like his voice has frozen in his throat and he’s just stuck here, can’t move, can’t speak, can’t think, can’t _breathe._

Sid pulls himself up and he feels sick, like the ice is moving under him. He stumbles and doubles over, trying to skate his way to the bench but unable to lift his head up, to see where he’s going. All of a sudden Geno’s there next to him, a hand on his shoulder guiding him, and-

The pain doesn’t go _away_ , but it’s better. It’s a million times better. Sid’s still shaking but his teeth aren’t chattering so bad anymore, his mark has settled now to a dull throb, and Sid almost feels like he’ll be okay.

Geno doesn’t say anything, but he stands with Sid at the boards and waits with him while everyone makes their way off the ice and down the tunnel for intermission. Sid usually likes to stand alone, but he doesn’t mind the company this time in the slightest because this way he has Geno to lean on instead of trying to stand by himself. He thinks he would fall again, and that’s not something he wants to do.

Even through layers of equipment, the spots where he’s touching Geno feel almost warm.

*

Sid has always wondered what Geno’s wings meant.

“Means something special, Sid,” Geno would say, deflecting the question entirely and changing the subject with his next sentence, usually something about their upcoming game or the next practice.

“Everyone’s mark means something special, that’s not an answer,” Is what Sid always says, desperately trying to reroute the conversation back to the topic it started on.

Geno’s good at answering question without really giving an answer, though. Sid still tries.

“Will you ever tell me? You know what my snowflakes mean, G,” Sid says, remembering sitting on Mario’s back porch with Geno, trying to explain his pull with words but not really being able to. He gave up pretty quickly and instead of talking just moved his hands and closed his eyes, waiting for Geno’s reaction. When Geno sees the snowflakes start to fall, he starts beaming. Sid was worried for _nothing._

“Someday, Sid. Will tell, but you have be patient.” Geno’s voice softens, and the look in his eyes tells Sid that they’re both thinking about the same memory. “Only reason I not tell yet is because- wings, they mean something… something more than special. Is not something many people know, not often something we tell.”

And Sid, well. He understands that. He knows Geno will tell him when it’s right to, because Geno said he would. Sid can wait, has been waiting. This is nothing.

*

Sid will forever regret the day that he showed his mark to Flower.

“Just think about it! We could, like, team up and conquer the world! With the power of ice and fire, we would make such a kick ass pair! No one would fuck with us!” Flower has a look of awe on his face, like he’s actually contemplating this, and Sid decides it’s time to step in.

“Flower, we are _hockey players_ , not superheroes.” Sid has his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised. Flower looks at him but doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“But we could be! Oh, we should have capes! Yes, and those spandex suits-” He stops for a second, and looks at Sid contemplatively. “Actually, maybe not. I don’t think the world could handle your ass in spandex.”

Sid really, really regrets showing Flower his mark. He regrets ever even becoming friends with the goalie, Canadian brotherhood be damned.

*

When Matt Cooke steps into the Penguins locker room on the first day of training camp, everyone stops. Mario comes in right behind him, and Sid isn’t sure if that’s what shuts everyone up or-

Or if it’s the way Cooke carries himself, the mark that curls around his neck and across his chest and down his arms, the meaning behind the thick black lines that mark his body. It’s not a common mark, but it’s one that most people know. This mark is made to be hard to hide for a reason.

“Boys, as I expect you know, this is the newest arrival to the Penguins team, Matt Cooke. Make him feel welcome, and no problems, alright? He’s one of you guys, now.” Mario nods and then gives Cooke an encouraging smile before again addressing the room at large. “Practice starts in ten! I expect to see you all out on the ice before then!”

There’s a few nods around the room and then Mario’s walking out. Cooke stays planted where he is, though, head down and Sid curses under his breath. Now that he holds the C, it’s his job to talk to Cooke and figure this all out. _Fuck._

Sid pushes himself off of the bench, half dressed in his equipment, and walks over slowly, careful not to startle Cooke. “The name’s Sidney. It’s nice to have you on the team,”

Cooke looks up sharply and just looks at Sid for a second, examining him, before making a gesture with his hands that Sid doesn’t quite follow. It must mean _something_ , though, because before Sid has a chance to ask, Geno’s up off the bench and standing between Sid and Cooke, his back straight and shoulders rigid with tension. Sid’s at a complete loss.

“Non aude. Pro hockeiam ibi es, ibi hoc non fer. Non locus rectus est.” Geno says in a language that Sid doesn’t think he’s ever heard before. It’s not English, and he doesn’t think it’s Russian, and he’s just so _confused._  Cooke’s eyes are wide, and Sid’s about to ask Geno what he’s doing because none of it makes any sense, when Cooke surprises him again and answers back.

“Putabas- is non tuarum est? De ubi venimus non est? Sed adtractus suus tam validus est, tam potens.” Cooke stops and looks at Geno curiously. Whatever he had said was obviously a question, to which Geno just shakes his head. He's still held tight with tension, and Sid wonders hopelessly what they're talking about. “Video me errare. Me paenitet. Prima die delinquere non volebam.” Cooke bows his head, and Geno finally relaxes.

“Non iterum fac. Plurimi manus sciunt, sed non debes manifestus esse.” Geno nods to Cooke and then turns around, his look changing in an instant from intimidating to worried as he meets Sid's eyes.  

“Sid okay?” He says then, and his halting English is back again.

“I’m- I’m fine, but what was all of that about? Geno?” Sid’s eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting at his lower lip, waiting for an answer that Geno looks reluctant to give.

“I tell Sid later. It’s… not talk for locker room.” Geno pauses and looks over Sid’s shoulder before saying, “C’mon, practice start soon. Need to go.”

When Geno leaves to walk down the tunnel Sid looks up to ask Cooke what had happened, hoping for an actual answer, but the winger is gone. Sid looks around the locker room for him, but he isn’t there, either. The next time Sid sees him is on the ice.

*

Geno says his vows in Latin. Sid’s mom prickles a bit when she hears about his plans to, but Sid settles her with a firm look and she stays quiet. This is important. This is the way it should be done.

Sid doesn’t have the mouth for Latin- he can’t quite manipulate his tongue into making the words sound right- but he’s gotten pretty good at understanding. Geno whispers it to him on sleepy mornings, speaks it when he talks to Jeffrey or Cookie or Gonch. Sid finds it ridiculously comforting.

He’s grateful for that, for the fact that just Geno’s voice does so much to calm his nerves, to settle the ice rattling in his bones, because he’s standing there at the altar and he feels like he might be dying.

Sid just can’t believe that this is actually _happening_. He never thought he’d get something like this, never thought he’d be allowed. But here he is.

Geno squeezes his hands tight, and Sid’s eyes meet his. There’s a gasp from their families, and Sid doesn’t even have to turn to a window to know why.

It snows all through the night and into the next morning. Geno teases him that it’s a good thing they picked a winter date.

*

“Sid? Say something…. please, tell me this doesn’t change things,” Colby’s eyes look sad, but Sid doesn’t believe them. That mark tells him that he shouldn’t. That mark tells him that Colby is lying, and has been from the very start.

“How can you say that? Do you expect me to ignore this?” Sid feels like ice and he knows he needs to calm down. He breathes through gritted teeth, but he can’t stop staring at the mark on Colby’s arm, the white skull and purple sunburst. There is no mistaking it.

“You know me, Sid. I’m no different now,” Colby looks pained, and his eyes are darting all around the room. “You were the one who said your mark doesn’t define you.”

“And I mean that, but this… Colby, this is more than your mark.” Sid kept his voice firm. He looked up at the man he used to consider his best friend and watched Colby’s eyes narrow into slits.

“You _lied_ ,” Colby hisses. Sid balls his hands into fists.

“You’ve been lying.” He says, fighting to keep his voice level when all he wants to do is shout. Colby’s face twists with anger and Sid watches as the last shreds of the person he knew fell away.

_“Θα εισαι καταραμένοι για αυτό. Σάιρικ θα έρθει για σας.”_

*

The first time Taylor switches shape is when she’s 10. Sid isn’t home, it’s the middle of the season and he’s down in Pittsburgh, playing hockey, playing _great hockey_. His mom calls him in tears and Sid’s panicking because he can’t make out what she’s saying and the only thing he knows is that his mother is crying and it has to be bad for her to call him, unable to talk through her sobs. His mom is not the kind of person to cry over nothing.

“Taylor changed, Sid. She changed,” Trina is finally able to choke out and Sid’s stomach drops.

“Oh,” Is all he says, all he can say, before his voice freezes in his throat. He was supposed to be there. He _promised_ her that he would be there for this part, that he would stay with her until she had to leave and that he would be there when she got back. She asked and Sid said yes but he _lied_ because he’s not there now and Taylor needs him and he’s so far away and-

“Sid, _Sid_ , breathe, baby, calm down,” His mom’s voice comes back to him. She’s still crying, little hiccuping sobs that turn to static down the phone line. Sid does as she told him, breathes in deep and lets it out slow.

“Is she still there?” He asks, almost afraid of the answer. If she left already- if she was gone- Sid knows that Taylor won’t be coming back. She’ll stay away, stay in the clouds and in the storms, stay fighting, and it will be all Sid’s fault because he wasn’t _there._

His mom is quiet. Sid’s heart feels frozen. But then, then she breathes in and says “Yes,” very quietly, and Sid can breathe again.

“I’m coming home.”

*

Sid doesn’t understand Cookie.  While Sid isn’t one to judge a person based on their mark, it’s kind of hard not to form an opinion on someone who has a mark like Cookie’s.

After all, it’s pretty much a universal thing that Daemons aren’t good people.

Matt Cooke, though- Sid just has a hard time believing he really is a Daemon. After the incident in the locker room, during that first practice Cookie did everything he could to prove to the coaches and the team that he was committed to his hockey and determined to improve it. He made jokes with the guys, tentatively at first, and then less so when the first few were accepted, and he followed the directions given easily and without argument. He went out of his way to show Sid that he was sorry for whatever happened earlier and tried to right a wrong that Sidney was not aware of him making.

Sid has only good things to say about the guy, and that surprises him. After what happened with Colby, Sid was wary, to say the least, about Matt Cooke joining the Penguins. It seems silly now, to have been worried.

After an awkward conversation where Sid had tried to understand, Cookie explained to him that Daemons have different types.

“Like, you know the 9 Circles of Hell?” Cookie was looking at Sid patiently, waiting for an answer. Sid nodded hesitantly. “Okay, so you take the nine circles- each one represents something different, right? There are the souls in limbo, and then lust, gluttony, greed, and so on. There are different Daemons to represent different circles, yes? They showcase the faults that will lead you to them respectively."

Sid sits still for a moment, thinking, then asks quietly, “Cookie, what circle do you represent?”

_“Circulus irae.”_

*

“Not all the same. Daemons and deities, they different, Sid.” Geno is standing in front of him in the kitchen of the Lemieux's guest house, a frying pan in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other. Sid doesn’t think this is the kind of thing normal people talk about during breakfast.

“I know, but its- they have the same concept, don’t they?” Sid tries his best not to whine, but by the look on Geno’s face, he doesn’t think he succeeds.

“Oh, Sid,” Geno shakes his and sets the frying pan down on the stove. “When I say not same I mean not same _at all_ ,” He turns the burner on and starts cracking eggs into the pan. “Deities come in all kinds, both good _and_ bad. Even ones that not have side, not good or bad just…”

“Neutral?” Sid offers, and Geno turns to beam at him.

“Yes! Exactly! Daemons are just one kind, they all come from _magna infernum._ Difference comes when you look at the pull of each Daemon, when you look closely at their marks. They different, but still from same place, still show bad things. Still have morals, though, still have human parts. Deities are not all bad things, but when you have evil deity…” Geno scowls. “Evil deity is worse than worst Daemon.”

“Cookie said he’s from circulus irae?” Sid says quietly, unsure of the pronunciation of the ancient language. He can see Geno trying to hide a smile, and knows that he completely butchered the words.

“Yes,” Geno says, ducking his head. “Cookie is from Fifth Circle, Circle of Anger.” He shakes his head, and rolls his eyes. There’s a smile on his face, though, when he says, “That only show on ice, though. Many stupid penalties, hits, all make sense now, yes?”

Sid doesn’t want to admit it, but it really, really does.

*

“I think I’m falling in love with him,”

“Sid, you know that’s _okay,_ right?”

“It is?”

*

Sergei knows he is well and truely fucked when he sees the look on Evgeni’s face the first time he meets Sidney. He knows from that moment on that, while his duties to the Angels as a messenger were over, he was going to become another sort of messenger between the two of them for the immediate future. At least, until Geno learns more English, and then they can talk on their own.

For some reason, though, Sergei doesn’t think he’ll stop being a messenger, even then.

“красивый,” Evgeni says, eyes wide and locked onto Sid. Sergei curses under his breath and ushers him inside, resisting the urge to cuff him on the back of the head.

“Не забывайте есть другие люди вокруг,” Sergei tries to scold, but he doesn’t think it comes across. Evgeni turns to him with a sheepish look.

“Разве я сказал это вслух?” He asks, and Sergei can’t resist this time and rolls his eyes, slapping a hand down on Evgeni’s shoulder.

“Да. И мы будем говорить об этом позже. Но сейчас, давайте есть.” Sergei turns to Mario and Sid, who are standing in the front hall, looking at him and Evgeni with amusement (Mario) and awe (Sid). He takes a breath and then says, “Dinner?”

Sergei sits next to Evgeni to act as a translator, but Evgeni doesn’t even try to follow the whole conversation. He only cares when Sid talks.

*

Sid doesn’t know if his mark is making the concussion worse or if it’s the other way around, but either way, he feels pathetic and miserable and useless. He can’t do anything without feeling sick, or getting a splitting headache, or snapping at someone. He’s constantly wearing layers, shivering violently even under three jackets and a heavy blanket, his teeth chattering together the only noise in the otherwise silent house. His mark is so cold he feels like he’s wearing on ice pack across his back that never melts, and he can’t take it off. At this point, he doesn’t know if he’s hurting or if he’s just cold.

It’s a month of sitting alone in Mario’s guest house, sulking and shivering, before Geno shows up. Sid doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he hears a knock at the door- Natalie, coming to make sure he still has food in the fridge and hasn’t starved to death, or Mario to ask about his symptoms- but what he sees when he opens the door is something he never would’ve guessed.

Geno’s standing in front of him with a grimace on his face and he looks half a second away from falling over and he’s on crutches, _what the fuck._

“Geno, Geno come here- what happened-” Sid stumbles over himself to open the door further and let Geno in, following behind him while he hobbles into the living room. Geno flops down on the couch and when he looks up at Sid, his face looks impossibly sad.

“Sid not see? Head get worse?” Geno asks, and Sid breathes out a quiet _oh._

“G, oh, no,” He bites his lip and his eyes feel watery, because god _damn_ it. This isn’t fair, it was time for at least one of them to get a full season, Geno deserved it, and now this.

Geno doesn’t say anything, just looks at him like a forgotten puppy, his eyes sad and droopy and his body slumped in like a fallen building. Sid folds himself into the couch and presses himself into Geno’s good side.

And Sid doesn’t know if his concussion is making all of this worse or if everything really just is this bad, but right now with Geno warm and solid underneath him, everything seems like it will be- better. Not okay, really, not yet, but just... better.

Its a start, at the least.

*

Sid is on the verge of a panic attack that entire way to Cole Harbour and by the time they pull up in front of the house the cab driver is so annoyed that he stays there, glaring, while Sid hurriedly pays his fare and runs inside.

Sid could really care less. The only thing on his mind is Taylor.

The door gives easily, Sid tells himself to thank his mother for leaving it unlocked, and he stumbles into the house. His heart is pounding and his breath is stuck in his throat and Sid doesn't think he's ever felt such a bone deep fear before. It feel like his body is crumbling in on itself, like he's freezing from the inside out and he doesn't know how to stop it.

Sid closes the door behind him and freezes. Sid's heart clenches, and he lets out a started chuckle. He stills feels half out of his mind, but now instead of panic, it’s with _relief._

Taylor is watching him, her icy blue eyes piercing through his skin and look at his soul. Sid didn’t think a wolf could look so judgemental, but it figures if any wolf could pull it off, it would be Taylor. Hesitantly, Sid takes a step forward, watching Taylor for any signs of a disagreement with the movement.

She rolls her eyes and huffs at him.

Sid takes another slow step, and it seems Taylor is even less patient in this form because she doesn’t wait for Sid to reach her, instead hopping off of the couch and padding right into his space. She sits and stares for a second, and Sid stands painfully still, before she huffs out the last of her annoyance, and butts her head against his hip in what Sid guesses is acceptance.

Later, Sid will realize that she nudged him right where his snowflakes start, where she used to trace her fingers over them when she was little because that’s the only part she could reach. For now, though, Sid just sinks down to the floor and buries his hands in his sisters shaggy gray fur.

"I'm so sorry, Taylor. I'm so sorry."   

*

The first time Sid sees Jeffrey after Geno has shown sid his wings- his _actual wings_ , fuck- Sid yelps and jumps, stumbling over his feet and falling flat on his ass. Jeffrey that as his opportunity to pretty much piledrive Sid and slobber all over him, and Sid is _not okay with that_ , because what the fuck, why does everyone have fucking _wings_ now, and did Jeffrey get even _bigger_ \- how is that even possible- and Sid can’t breath because there’s a giant tongue trying to cover every inch of his face in drool and _he’s going to kill Geno._

Geno, who is currently leaning against the wall and laughing his ass off at Sid, and not even trying to help him. Sid is stuck at Jeffrey’s mercy until he decides that Sid has finally been licked enough and then promptly snuffles in his face before turning and trotting into the kitchen. Sid splutters and wipes at his face and Geno is still laughing and Sid can’t even believe this is his life right now.

He loves it.

**Author's Note:**

> translations- (ik it's a pain to have to scroll for translations, so if anyone knows how to do the hover text thing, could you hook me up? i found an html thing to use but i'm shit at html coding and i fucked everything up when i tried to use it, as usual) 
> 
> Non aude. Pro hockeiam ibi es, ibi hoc non fer. Non locus rectus est. - Don't you dare. You are here for hockey, do not bring this is here. This is not the place. 
> 
> Putabas- is non tuarum est? De ubi venimus non est? Sed adtractus suus tam validus est, tam potens. - I just thought- he's not one of you? He is not from where we are? But his pull is so strong, so powerful.
> 
> Video me errare. Me paenitet. Prima die delinquere non volebam. - I see that I am now wrong. I am sorry. I did not mean to overstep on my first day.
> 
> Non iterum fac. Plurimi manus sciunt, sed non debes manifestus esse. - See that it does not happen again. Most people on the team know what you are, but that does not mean you can or should flaunt it.
> 
> Θα εισαι καταραμένοι για αυτό. Σάιρικ θα έρθει για σας. - You will be cursed for this. Cyric will come for you. 
> 
> Circulus irae. - The circle of anger. 
> 
> magna infernum- the great hell
> 
> красивый - beautiful
> 
> Не забывайте есть другие люди вокруг, - Do not forget there are other people around
> 
> Разве я сказал это вслух? - Did I say that out loud?
> 
> Да. И мы будем говорить об этом позже. Но сейчас, давайте есть. - Yes. And we will talk about that later. But for now, let us eat.


End file.
